


Old Fears, New Need

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raph stitching up Donnie's battle wound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Fears, New Need

"Hold still!"

"I am holding still,” Donnie snaps. He hisses; the topical anesthesia is helping, but not much. It also doesn’t help that Raph is flustered and punch-drunk, his hands steady but his gaze jumping all over the place. They’re cramped together in a storeroom closet, waiting for the block to clear, but they can’t wait to stitch Donnie’s leg — it didn’t seem that bad in the dark rush of the factory floor, but now that they can breathe, it’s obvious that he’s bleeding too badly to ignore it. Raph’s on nurse duty, something he’s good at when conditions are ideal, which a dusty, cockroach-infested storeroom isn’t.

He’s on the third stitch, though, and getting into the rhythm of it. If he would just calm down, it would be fine, but Donnie’s pretty sure he’s blaming himself. The knucklehead can come out of a massive sprawling life-or-death battle with a cocksure grin, but when it comes to his brothers getting hurt, it’s either panic or rage, and there’s a pool of blood on the floor of the storeroom, streaked by Raph’s frantic shuffling, and each new stitch is making fresh drops leak down Donnie’s leg.

"Almost done," Raph says, more to himself than to Donnie. "Just a couple more stitches and then we can get out of here, okay? Donnie? You still with me?"

Donnie would mention how far away the wound is from the femoral artery, that it’s just a nasty cut, that he’s fine, but honestly, Raph’s not the only one on edge, and a part of Donnie just wants to wrap himself around him and breathe him in and reassure himself that they’ll be fine. He settles, instead, for: “Yeah, I’m okay. It’s okay. What about you? I didn’t notice…”

"Nah," Raph says, without even bothering to check. Donnie makes a note to give him a long once-over as soon as they’re in better light. The needle presses in, and Donnie bites his lip; Raph shifts and carefully pulls it through. "Just a couple more," he says, under his breath.

They drift into silence, listening for any sudden noises — it’s possible that they’ll be found, that more Foot will check the factory, or that Leo and Mikey will run into trouble. There’s a tremulous haze in the room, thick and close, and Donnie watches the faint gleam of Raph’s eyes as he works, pays close attention to the way the dark silhouette of Raph’s body shifts, the rhythmic push-and-pull of his hands with the needle.

Raph ties off the last stitch, cuts the excess away. Doesn’t even bother to clean off the needle before jabbing it back into his pouch, which makes Donnie wince, but then Raph’s warm hand is on Donnie’s thigh, his thumb is rubbing back and forth on the sensitive skin, and he is leaning close. Donnie can feel the shudder of his breath on his neck.

"Don’t scare me like that," Raph says. "You could’ve…"

"We always could," Donnie says. He rests his hand on Raph’s shoulder — then, because he’s all nerves himself, because he’s a little dizzy, because he’s aware of every inch of Raph and how desperately Raph needs his brothers, of how tenuous the threads of their lives are, he wraps his arms around Raph, lets Raph lean into him and press hot kisses to his neck.

Raph groans and pushes against him, all hands and mouth. He straddles his good leg and clutches his shell, his shoulders, his sides. He doesn’t seem to know what he wants, nuzzling and kissing and biting at his throat, making soft sounds that are almost words. It’s all Donnie can do to lean back against an old crate and keep his leg still. They don’t have long. The others will catch up, soon, or call them; they could still be found by an enemy, and how would that look, a band of Foot walking in on the turtles flush against each other?

Raph pauses, going still against Donnie, holding onto the back of his shell, his nose pressed against Donnie’s neck. He stays there a moment, breathing hard, his lips moving against Donnie’s skin in a silent countdown. Donnie tilts his head, trying to get a better look at him, unsure if Raph’s going to freak out or if he just needs a breather — and then he realizes that Raph is counting out his pulse, following the thrum of it, letting the tactile reality of Donnie’s life bring him back down to planet Earth.

When he moves again, it is deliberate, this time: Long, desperate kisses, his hips grinding against Donnie’s in quick thrusts, his thick fingers scrabbling against Donnie’s shell.

In the quiet of the storeroom, they repeat what they’ve always known, savoring an old need.


End file.
